Chapter XC: Book IX: The Captive in Leash

_They were standing on the hill-top, watching the last glimmer of the sinking moon. As the faint perfume of the clover came to them upon the warm evening wind, she sighed, and whispered--

“Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here!
‘Mid city noise, not as with thee of yore,
Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home!”

She paused.

“Go on,” he said, and she quoted--

“Then through the great town’s harsh, heart-wearying roar,
Let in thy voice a whisper always come,
To chase fatigue and fear:
Why faintest thou? I wandered till I died.
Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.”_